


brought my love a cherry

by augustdepot



Series: the riddle song [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Post-Apocalypse, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augustdepot/pseuds/augustdepot
Summary: “I just don’t want to hurt you.” Martin drops his toothbrush back into the cup by the sink.“I’ll be the first to admit you’re big but if you think-”Martin rolls his eyes. “You know that isn’t what I mean.”(alternately titled There's Some Sex I Guess But Mostly I Just Want To Think About JMart Having An Little Happy Life Together)(or, jon is ready to jump back into sex after having a baby, martin goes along, there's a little mishap, jon ruminates on the state of their family and how big it is)(or, a prequel of sorts to a cherry that has no stone)(or, it's a fucking nightmare to find the tag for jonmartin and i tagged it wrong twice. so if you saw it before, it's just jon & martin with no third parties, sorry about that)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: the riddle song [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185185
Comments: 7
Kudos: 78





	brought my love a cherry

**Author's Note:**

> jon is trans, words are chest, breast, tits, cock, clit, entrance, vagina
> 
> there is talk of his prior pregnancy, birth, and he actively breastfeeds and makes reference to breastfeeding throughout. these are all positive experiences, and he does not see them as dysphoria inducing. he does express anxiety about giving birth and possibly having two pregnancies very close together due to a condom mishap.
> 
> he's asexual, of the my-body-gets-plenty-horny subtype, which is to say he enjoys sex as a thing to do together and it feels nice and they're in love (oh my god they're in love) so he does a saucy little winky face at martin about it so he can get off without having to do it himself
> 
> (alternately alternately titled, i got covid from a denier coworker and in a desperate attempt at not losing my mind ended up writing 23k words in a week or so with plenty more floating around about the boys surviving the apocalypse and having babies and a house and a nice kitchen and old lesbian neighbors and being in love, but got way too self conscious to post so made some porn with only a Little bit of cotton candy overtones instead)

He knows he’s far from invincible. It doesn’t take much to hurt a standard human, and he’s been a standard human for some time now. He’d almost, nearly, in a distant way, missed being more-than-human during the worst of his recovery. He wondered if he could have bounced back from giving birth in a day or two instead of being stuck as he was, shouting for Martin to bring him another pad from the freezer because he’d forgotten to take one with him to the bathroom, living in compression socks for the first few weeks to combat the delights of leg cramps, setting a religious regimen of Kegels after the first time he thinks he’s peed after sneezing.

So he’s well aware after all that - there are things his body can and can’t do. It can’t run without attention.

So he eats regularly because his body needs it, and having food in his system keeps him going to be with Robin and Martin. He sleeps more than he ever has before because his body needs it, and being alert means he can enjoy the time he spends with Robin and Martin. He spends more than enough time receiving medical attention because his body needs it, and being declared not in need of further medical attention means he can possibly talk Martin into touching that body.

Because he isn’t made of glass.

The issue is Martin agreeing.

“I’m _fine._ ”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” Martin drops his toothbrush back into the cup by the sink.

“I’ll be the first to admit you’re big but if you think-”

Martin rolls his eyes. “You _know_ that isn’t what I mean.”

Jon crosses his arms and leans back against the mirror where he sits on the counter. “You watched me push a baby out of it, I can guarantee you won’t do anything worse.” As though engaging in twenty minutes of fun with his husband, no matter how large he may be, will cause more damage to his vagina than the hours he’d spent trying to fit the whole damn baby through. 

“Yeah, I watched you _push a baby out of it,_ and I heard the midwife say _tear_ , and I was at your followup when she said to be careful with sex for a bit so you don’t have any issues. I also know you complained about being sore last week, so forgive me for being concerned.”

“You were _more_ than happy to use your mouth last week when I complained.”

“Yeah, largely because your dick wasn’t torn in the birthing process.” Martin pinches Jon’s side and laughs at his affronted expression. "I can get you off without risking making anything worse.”

“It was just a little twinge. Most people who give birth are back to sex by now. I had the smallest first degree tear possible, it was healed within a week. There’s no reason we can’t.”

“It’s…” Martin sighs and drums his fingers on the edge of the sink. “I’m just nervous. I don’t want to hurt you, and _don’t_ , it’s nothing to do with any particular part of me being any particular way.”

It’s sweet of him to worry, even if it often seems like his primary function, but Jon has been ready. He’s done his research, even done a little probing to see how his own body was feeling, and found he misses it. He wants to feel Martin inside him again, he’s gone close to three months without it. They’d had a dry spell, after everything at the end of the world, but after their wedding, that was over. This is the longest they’ve gone without since then, and Jon had been spoiled to a certain extent - after getting married, when they were giddy with love and eager for each other’s bodies, and before the baby was born, when they were tucked away at home and had little else to entertain themselves past being in love and each other's bodies, it seemed like it was practically a hobby. Wake up late, get each other off, breakfast, nap, find new ways to get Martin inside him with his belly in the way, dinner, off to bed to do it again tomorrow. It was good. Comfortable. Special and sweet and _theirs_.

Jon holds out his hand for Martin to take and, once he accepts, kisses his knuckles. “If you don’t want to then that’s the final answer, but if it’s for my sake, don’t worry. I know how to say stop if I need to.”

Martin watches him for a moment, brow furrowed and tongue poking out between his lips. “Okay, if you’re _absolutely certain-_ ”

“Oh, thank god.” Jon reaches for the first drawer in the counter, pulling out a box of condoms and a bottle of lube and slapping them against Martin’s chest. Martin splutters and barely manages to catch them as Jon jumps down from his seat.

“When on earth did you get these?”

“When you told me to take a walk and get some air a couple weeks ago.”

And he had taken a walk. And gotten air, along with condoms and lube and the lemonade he’d been desperately craving at the closest shop. And only cried for about a minute in the bathroom once he was there because it was the first time he’d been anywhere without his baby in over nine months and he didn’t realize until then that it was also the longest he’d been away from her.

Fortunately, despite his little breakdown, he managed to finish his errand before power walking his way back home. And now, he has what he needs to get Martin inside him, already, after trying for nearly three weeks to hint at it.

Jon pulls his shirt over his head and starts at the snap of his bra.

“Hang on, are we doing this _right now_?”

He freezes, straps already halfway down his arms. “Ideally.”

“In the bathroom?”

“We’ve had sex in the bathroom before. And Robin is asleep in the bedroom.”

Martin sighs, inspecting the area around them, and seeming to decide it just won’t do. “Not on the sofa, even?”

Jon considers for a moment.

“Get a couple towels to put down and we can go to the sofa.” Jon fishes stripping as he makes his trek, abandoning his clothes where they fall and trying not to laugh at Martin’s sighs as he kicks them to the side. Once Martin’s dropped his towels on the sofa, Jon turns and pushes up the hem of his shirt. “Hurry up, you’re falling behind.”

Martin smiles, swatting at his hands. “Deep breath, hold on.” He sits slouched low and lazy against the back of the sofa. He opens his arms and waves for Jon to climb into his lap, hands settling on his hips when he does. “We’re going to take our time. I’m not jumping into things just because you’re impatient.”

Jon sighs and grinds down despite Martin holding him in place. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been four weeks more patient than the doctor even said. The time for patience is dead, and now it’s very urgent that you take your clothes off and get inside me.”

A hand twists into Jon’s hair, not pulling just yet, but strong enough that his eyes flutter shut and he can feel himself starting to go lax.

“Jon, did you listen to what I just said?”

He leans forward into the hand that comes to rest against his chest, supporting him as he sways forward toward Martin. “Yes.”

“Okay, then look at me.”

Jon opens his eyes to meet Martin’s.

“Are you going to be patient?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll be good?”

Jon’s breath hitches in his chest.

“I’ll be good.”

Martin smiles again, fingers loosening in his hair and scratching along his scalp.

“Good.”

And Martin kisses him. It’s gentle and soft, a treat for Jon’s behavior. Jon wraps his arms around Martin’s neck and presses against him. He feels hands settle on his waist to keep him from pushing.

Martin is both thankfully and infuriatingly good at this. He kisses Jon slowly, easily, like they’re whiling away a lazy afternoon, and each time Jon tries to move the proceedings forward, the hands on his hips tighten enough that he knows he’ll be feeling it for a day or two. He teases Jon with the lightest brush of tongue across his lips, the barest hint of his teeth, the suggestion of moving in when he’s pulling away to grin at Jon’s frustrated little huff.

And just as Jon is on the verge of biting him if things don’t speed up, Martin grabs Jon’s waist and pulls him flush to kiss him properly. Jon lets out a reedy moan when Martin’s lips part, when he lets Jon move his hips enough to roll against him. He doesn’t try anything drastic, he knows better, but he can’t stop himself shifting in search of friction against his cock.

Martin slides his hands beneath Jon’s thighs and lifts him just barely enough to stop him grinding down. Jon pinches the closest bit of Martin he can reach. Martin smiles into his mouth and changes his method, instead pulling Jon down and thrusting up against him. Jon scrambles to grab Martin’s shoulders at the sudden contact, breath leaving his chest in a sharp gasp.

“This will be a lot faster if you _behave_.”

“I’m behaving.” Jon slides his hands down Martin’s chest and makes sure his hips stay still. “I am being very well behaved.”

“I thought you were going to let me take my time?” Martin makes a teasing little trail to copy Jon’s, dragging his hands down his chest and cupping his breasts on the way.

Jon arches into the touch. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

“It’s what I’m trying to do.” The feeling of a sharp tug on his nipples draws a moan from Jon’s throat. “But _someone_ keeps getting ahead of himself.”

Jon sighs and leans back. Martin lets him go, only holding his waist to keep him steady.

“Can you take the shirt off, at least? I’m getting a bit self conscious being the only one undressed.”

Martin laughs, sudden and bright. Waving for Jon to stand, he does so as well to remove his shirt and kick off his boxers. As he turns to spread the towels over the sofa Jon plasters himself to his side, one hand drifting down his stomach. He decides to test his limits to brush his fingertips against the base of Martin’s cock, then, when he doesn’t receive a scolding, take him in hand.

He gets a gentle elbow to the chest for the trouble, but Martin does thrust into his hand with a pleased little hum. “I thought you said you were behaving?”

“I am behaving. You like when I touch you.” Jon gives Martin a long, slow stroke. “And I like touching you.”

Martin bats Jon’s hand away and pushes him to lay back on the sofa, head against the oversized blanket left balled up against the arm. Martin joins, hovering over him, his weight a pleasant pressure that has Jon’s legs spreading and coming up around his waist as though on instinct. Jon spends a moment being grateful they’d picked such a gratuitous piece of furniture so they have enough room on the deep cushions for this sort of thing. And then, he doesn’t bother thinking about the furniture at all, because Martin kisses him again.

It seems he’s decided to be merciful. He kisses Jon with direction, with purpose, clever tongue and nipping teeth and hot breath passing between them. Jon digs his fingers into the fat of Martin’s sides, heels tight against his back, as he makes his way down Jon’s cheek to his neck. He bites the thin skin at the hollow of Jon’s throat, smiling against the sound of his moans, working down to his chest.

Jon arches under Martin’s attention. His breasts are still tender and sore, had never lost that first flush of discomfort from the early days of his pregnancy. The easy press of Martin’s lips is a sweet counter, the pinch of his fingers over one nipple contrasting the gentle suction against the other. Jon hums low in his throat at the relief when the lightest trickle of milk spills across Martin’s tongue. He lets his back bow as Martin’s broad hands knead his tits, as Martin leaves little bruises and apologetic kisses in senseless patterns, as Martin lets Jon’s fingers tangle into his hair.

“Feeling good?” Martin asks, lifting up to kiss Jon again.

“Feeling good,” Jon says. He cups Martin’s face and feels himself smiling.

“Just want to check in. Haven’t had a chance to do all this in a bit.”

“I’m good. You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” Martin sits up and moves down the sofa. He drags his hands over Jon’s sides and sets them on his hips, drops his lips against the little pucker of still-stretched skin on Jon’s abdomen, lets his breath drift hot over Jon’s cock before circling the head with his tongue. Jon rolls up into the touch. He spreads his legs until Martin hooks his arms under them, his shoulders coming to support Jon’s thighs, and takes Jon into his mouth.

Jon moans outright at that, snapping his mouth shut when he registers the volume. Martin presses against Jon’s entrance. Jon moves into it, ruts against the flat of his tongue, begs with his body until Martin slides a finger inside him. It draws a shout and Jon turns his face into the plush blanket beneath his head to stifle it.

The feeling is almost strange, after so long. He missed it, missed knowing Martin is inside him, Martin is opening his body, Martin is pressing another finger into him and curling them gently to the sound of Jon’s muffled whines. When Martin spreads his fingers apart, Jon clenches his thighs tight around Martin’s ears, getting a soft huff of a laugh in response. Martin takes the reaction for the encouragement it is and picks up speed as he works at Jon’s cock, rocking into him steadily until he finds Jon’s ready to take another finger.

The tender soreness in his tits and the wet heat around his cock and the sweet stretch inside him brings Jon slowly to the edge. He finds himself reaching for the back of Martin’s head and holding him by the hair, not sure if he’s rolling up into Martin’s mouth or grinding down onto his fingers, both sensations dragging him willingly to a peak. As Jon can feel himself spinning, Martin eases his last finger into Jon alongside the rest and spreads them gently, turning his wrist and pressing into just the right spot on each thrust, the muscles of Jon’s thighs quivering and quaking at every motion.

When Jon comes, it hits gently - not the burning heat of a flame, but the comfort of a radiator-warm blanket, soft and slow and simple, his body going tight for a brief burst before falling into a lazy tumble of feeling.

Martin keeps his fingers and his tongue still as Jon comes down. When Jon settles, Martin pulls away and climbs back up his body. He lets Jon catch his breath for a moment and spends the time running his hand over Jon’s side in soothing motions.

“Okay. _Okay._ ” Jon pushes Martin off and sits up. “Okay. What did you do with my condoms?”

Martin laughs as Jon scrambles for the box on the side table, searching for the flap with shaking fingers. “In a bit of a rush?”

Jon gives up and tears the side of the box off. “Yes.”

“What are you doing?” Martin laughs again as he picks up the half-dozen condoms that spill over the sofa and sets them aside.

“I am _trying_ to have sex with my husband.”

“What do you mean _trying_? What was that, then? I am more than ready and willing to keep eating you out, if you need me to stop _trying_ and start _doing._ Lay back down and let me have at it.”

Jon doesn’t bother replying, just snatches a condom, pushes Martin back, moves to the floor as quickly as possible, and takes Martin into his mouth. He likes to think he’s gotten rather good at this - for a week or so while he was pregnant, he’d been so frustrated with the size of his belly that he’d settled on learning to make Martin come with his mouth as a project, instead of trying to find a comfortable position to manage penetration at his size. So now, he knows what to do to make Martin’s jaw flex, his stomach tighten, his fingers pull just on the right side of painful in Jon’s hair, makes him cry out strings of praises that set Jon’s thighs clenching together, _look at you, Jon, so good, lovely, Jon, you’re doing so well, I love you, my Jon, so good for me_.

Jon doesn’t waste time working up, instead diving in and taking Martin as deep as he can, hollowing his cheeks and doing his best to ignore the faint warnings of his gag reflex when Martin rolls up into him. He swirls his tongue around the tip of Martin’s cock, bobs his head gently, twists his hand around the base to feel Martin’s hips straining to stop himself using Jon’s mouth.

When Jon thinks he’s spent enough time recovering, he pulls off Martin’s cock and waves the condom at him until he takes it.

“Open that,” he says, voice ragged, and makes a show of looking up through his eyelashes at Martin as he drags his tongue down his shaft. Martin does so, all the while continuing his sweet refrains, telling Jon he’s lovely, he’s loved, he’s so _good_. As soon as Martin tosses the wrapper to the side, Jon reaches out to take the condom back and rolls it on with eager, shaking hands.

Martin helps Jon up and back on to the sofa, taking a moment to make sure the towels are still covering the upholstery. He settles himself over top of Jon and kisses him. While Jon is distracted, wriggling to make himself comfortable, Martin’s fingers press against him again, slick from the bottle Jon hadn’t noticed him opening. Jon bites gently at Martin’s lip and shifts his hips.

“You’ve done enough, I’m ready.”

“Okay, okay, hang on, I’d just rather we not take the risk.” Martin reaches between them and lines himself up after a few short strokes with a palmful of lube. The feeling has Jon wrapping his legs around Martin’s waist again, clinging to his neck with a too-tight grip, nearly vibrating in anticipation. “Still feel good?”

Jon tries to pull Martin forward but doesn’t quite manage it. “I’m good. _Good._ Very good, would be better if you would _move,_ just a little. I don’t see why I have to beg my husband to-”

Martin pushes in quickly, driving all the air out of Jon’s lungs in a breathless moan. He moves in slow rolls that press deeper on each pass, works his way further in an easy rhythm, angles perfectly so that each thrust hits just right to make Jon shudder and shake and clench around him.

It’s so perfect it’s almost unbearable, this feeling. The overwhelming pressure when Martin is as deep in Jon’s body as he can be. The size of him on top of Jon, broad enough to keep Jon’s legs spread so wide he can already feel the way his thighs will be sore tomorrow from the stretch. The press of gentle kisses against Jon’s cheek, his neck, his lips. The sound of his voice in Jon’s ear, saying he’s good, he’s perfect, he’s loved. The soft places on his sides where Jon’s fingers dig, desperate for purchase, when Martin’s motions change from gentle and soft to short, sharp, barely pulling out before grinding back in, lifting just enough on his knees that Jon’s back bends and Martin can fill him that much deeper.

Jon can’t help the sounds that fall from his mouth. He tries to call Martin’s name, tell him the sweet things he deserves to hear, but he can’t. He can only cling to Martin and hope to catch his breath as every bit of air is punched out of him in time with Martin’s thrusts.

“Touch yourself,” Martin tells him in a weak voice.

Jon does so with a trembling hand. In his clumsy desperation he can feel, as works his clit, where Martin enters him, the tip of his fingers brushing against latex and reminding him as though he could ever forget that his body is split open with Martin inside it, that he has this, Martin over top of him and around him and inside him.

It doesn’t take long for the feeling to rise again, pins and needles in the tips of his finger, toes, the top of his head, pulsing over his body in time with his heart, until it’s so much he can’t hold the feeling in.

The sound pulled from Jon’s throat is raw and weak. He reaches for Martin’s face, needing to see him as the heat pulls him under. His back arches and he can’t stop the frantic press of his hips into Martin’s, the urgent grind as he tries to stretch that high, the hiccuping breaths and feeble sobs as he begs Martin to keep going.

It’s too much and it isn’t. Martin doesn’t stop, just a Jon asked, drives into him again and again and again, as Jon kisses him desperately, deeply, his body still shaking and electric, until Martin cries out, buries his face in Jon’s neck, give a final thrust so deep that Jon can’t hold in the fresh moan that falls from his tongue.

“Oh, shit. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit-_ ”

Before Jon can understand what’s happening, Martin pulls out in a rush and sits up, frantically scrambling back.

“What? What’s wrong?” Jon sits up as well at the outburst.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t - um… it broke. The - the condom, it broke when I - _Christ_.”

Jon looks down to see the split latex and it connects in his head that he’d bought those condoms for a good reason and they didn’t exactly serve their purpose, reaches between his own legs to find the evidence that Martin had just finished inside him and can feel his own face crumple at the thought. He wipes his fingers clean on the towels, presses his hands over his eyes and takes a deep breath. When that deep breath doesn’t do any good, he tries again, and then again, and on the next the tears start.

“Oh, Jon, it’s - come here.” He lets himself be pulled into Martin’s chest and tries to calm himself down. “It’s okay, I promise. I promise it is.”

“God, Martin, I can’t get pregnant again, I can’t, not now, it’s not even been three months yet, I can’t.”

“You won’t, it’s okay, you won’t-”

“And how much did it take last time?” Jon scoffs and hates the part of himself that feels the need to snap at Martin because he’s scared. “Twice and we ended up with a baby. And I’m still trying to get back to normal from that one, I can’t have another one in _less than a year,_ Martin, I don’t even know how to take care of the first one yet-”

“Jon, I need you to take a deep breath, okay?” Martin takes Jon’s face in his hands and breathes in then out, doesn’t look away until Jon follows suit four, five, six times. “The chances of that are low. You’re still breastfeeding, and you haven’t had a period, and it’s once. One time, okay? First thing tomorrow, we’ll call the doctor and figure out exactly what we need to do to make sure you don’t need to worry about it. You won’t get pregnant, and if you do, we’ll get through it, alright? We’ll figure it out. We can handle whatever happens, we always do.”

He’s right, he is, but it doesn’t push the worry all the way out of Jon’s head. And he knows it’s not likely. Martin had told him as such, the midwife had given Jon one of every pamphlet she had on every subject possible, including sex, after he expressed a laundry list of anxieties, the baby books mentioned all of it in their life-after-baby chapters. He just can’t imagine doing it all again. God, he’s still terrified to give birth and it’s already over. 

“C’mon. Let’s get cleaned up, and in the morning it’ll all get sorted.”

Jon lets Martin lead him through the motions, lets him wash his hair and hold him close and bring him a baggy old shirt to sleep in. He leans against Martin when Robin starts fussing so she can nurse before they all go back to bed.

He trails his fingers over her cheek as she eats. He’s been thinking about freckles, lately, the idea that they’ll crop up in a few years to match Martin’s. She already has Martin’s eyes, wide, dark doe eyes, and Jon knows he’ll fall prey to the puppy-dog look without a moment’s hesitation once she learns to use it. He’s already halfway to offering her the world on a platter, now that she’s learned to smile.

Martin is even worse. From the second the midwife placed her on Jon’s chest, he came to the conclusion that the sun rises and sets only for Robin Blackwood. Jon can see the future clearly - thinking he can rely on Martin to be the prevailing level head, but neither of them stand a chance. No matter how big or small the request, they’ll both cave in seconds under the weight of their love for her, the same way they’ve changed in a million little ways for each other under the weight of it.

Jon didn’t know if he could do it, at first - if he could take every bit of love in himself and tear it in half to split between the two of them. He doesn’t know if he can do it again, if he could mix it all up to make three parts, if there’s even enough space in his heart to hold that much. He’s still in such a jumble, all the time, like he’s breaking under the strength of it, Robin and Martin and Robin and Martin and Robin and Martin crashing into him like a hurricane threatening to tear him apart.

Robin fusses against Jon’s chest, little legs starting to nudge at his stomach so he knows she’s ready to switch.

Jon tries to picture it. In a year’s time, another little face, maybe this time with his downturned eyes and Martin’s brown hair, giving him a wide, gummy smile as he turns them to his other breast. Robin, his baby, his little girl, the sunburst he’s loved so severely since she was no more than a poppy seed, old enough by then to walk and talk and not need him for this any longer, a big girl now in her crib in the nursery instead of the bassinet still by their bed.

He wants it. He wants it, he wants it, he wants it, and he hadn’t even known.

But not now.

He folds that hope in half, then in half again and again and again, until it’s small enough to tuck away in the back of his heart for later.

For now, Jon turns and nudges Martin's jaw with his forehead ( _God, are you turning into a goat?_ ) until he takes the hint and leans in for a kiss. 

For now, he pets the downy hair on the crown of Robin’s head with reverent fingers, watches the way her eyes flutter shut, the little twitch in her ear as she eats.

For now, he settles back into his bed with his daughter dozing in his arms and his husband at his back and thinks about about a tomorrow where they do it over again.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have chosen to read this, thank you! i greatly appreciate it. i need constant attention because i'm just like that as a person so any comments are appreciated. if there's something you believe should be warned for or tagged, let me know so i can make appropriate adjustments
> 
> however
> 
> there's been some unfortunate bullshit about how trans men are allowed to exist, and things they are or are not allowed to do or want. if you would like to comment please don't be a shithead about trans men wanting to get pregnant or have babies because sometimes we do. also please don't be a shithead about trans men who don't seek surgery and use their bodies as-is in sexual situations because sometimes we do. also please don't be a shithead about asexual people who like getting off and choose to do so with their partners because sometimes we do.


End file.
